


Repaired With Gold

by Nympha_Alba



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Christmas, M/M, Major Character death in context of reincarnation, Modern Era, Past Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Reincarnation, Romance, Snow, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:49:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5322833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nympha_Alba/pseuds/Nympha_Alba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur hates Christmas. This year he'll spend it alone in a cottage in Wales with a bottle of whisky for his only company – at least that's his plan. But fate steps in and sends snow,  strange dreams and a neighbour named Merlin into Arthur's path, and Arthur's life is about to take an unexpected turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repaired With Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pavingnewpaths](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pavingnewpaths/gifts).



> Dear **pavingnewpaths** , I picked and mixed from your preferences and great prompts and hope I came up with something you can enjoy. Happy Merlin Holidays!
> 
> Thanks and love to [alba17](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alba17) and [Cookie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookie) for the beta work, and to the mods for running this fest!
> 
> The major character deaths in the warnings are PAST deaths in the context of reincarnation.

The air was filled with a grey, misty drizzle as Arthur set out from London, drumming his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. People hurried along the pavements past garish shop displays with their shoulders hunched against the almost-rain, their faces tense with Christmas stress. He shuddered. Leaving London was absolutely the right thing to do. Bye, London. Hello, five days of oblivion in Wales.

It was the 23rd of December and it took forever to get out of the city even though rush hour was still hours away. Arthur didn't mind, though. It meant that he had to keep his mind on driving and not on other things. Once he was out on the motorway, he'd play brainless music and sing along to it. That'd work, too.

Because it was important not to think. This Christmas wasn't about shiny gifts, twinkling trees or laughing children – not that there were any children around to do any laughing. Arthur's family was only Uther, Morgana and himself, and Uther was always strained and quiet at Christmas – missing Arthur's mother, Arthur assumed. Well, he wasn't alone in that, but he seemed to have monopolized it. Like he was the only one _entitled_ to grieve and miss her. Arthur's fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Oh, it was so typical of Uther! As if it was a competition, or a wrong and a right way of doing it. There wasn't; it was just different. Ygraine had been Uther's wife and Arthur's mother – of course they missed her in different ways, but Uther's was the only one that counted. So he spent his Christmases being moody and dramatic, ignoring the presents his children gave him and offering expensive, indifferent ones instead, ones that he probably had his secretary buy anyway, leaving his children anxious and offended.

But this sad little family was all they had, and they had persisted in spending Christmas together – until now.

This year, Morgana had announced she wouldn't be home for Christmas; she'd be in France with Gwaine. And wasn't _that_ relationship a surprise, Arthur thought. He had introduced them to each other because he thought Morgana would like Gwaine, or at least his hair, which she did, and Gwaine had been unable to take his eyes off her, the way he would with any beautiful woman. To everyone's surprise, including their own, their relationship had turned serious. They had been together for three years now. Christmas last year had been the best the Pendragon siblings had had in years, merrier than any Christmas since Ygraine died, brightened by the presence of Gwaine and Gwen.

_Gwen._

Arthur was out on the M4 now, watching the traffic move in front of him like two sluggish, glittering snakes – a white one moving towards him, and a red one that he was part of. A car swerved abruptly into the lane in front of him, but just as he drew a breath to swear over idiots, he saw the bumper sticker: _I'm so gay I can't even drive straight._ It startled a laugh out of him.

"Well, that makes two of us, mate," he said out loud.

But that wasn't entirely true. Arthur did drive straight sometimes. There had been Gwen, after all, and Sophia before her...

Arthur pulled out his phone and found the playlist he'd put together for the trip; music with no connection to any memories of anyone. The first song on the list was … One Direction? Really? Arthur shook his head. Morgana's handiwork. _One Dee_ , as she insisted on calling them, wasn't his thing, but he'd give it a go. He tapped the screen. _If I didn't have you there would be nothing left, the shell of a man who could never be his best …_ Oh, bad choice. Far too close to the truth. He moved quickly to the next. _Then baby I'm perfect, baby I'm perfect for you_ … 

Arthur abandoned the playlist and turned the radio on. 

The breakup with Gwen had been undramatic. She was so sorry, she had said, but they'd be better as friends, wouldn't they? Arthur had agreed, and when Gwen and Lance had become a couple only weeks later, Arthur hadn't even had it in him to hate his two best friends for doing this to him. He'd barely even felt betrayed. His relationship with Gwen had run its course and it was obvious they had never had what she and Lance had. That _glow_. So why, then, had the breakup made Arthur so depressed? As winter darkness fell, so had his mood plummeted, along with his self-esteem. 

For weeks he'd barely left his apartment except to go to work, and when he was in it, he'd been staring at the walls. He couldn't listen to music or watch films - there were couples, couples everywhere. Sex. Kisses. Romantic dinners. Arthur would never find anyone new, would never fall in love again. 

Again? Had he ever truly _been_ in love? And fuck, if that wasn't the most depressing thought of all. 

Anyway, now here he was, on his way to Wales and some godforsaken village named Ealdor where Gwaine owned a cottage. When Arthur had panicked at the thought of spending Christmas alone with Uther, Gwaine had offered him the cottage. It would be the ideal Christmas – only himself and a bottle of whisky. Arthur reached out and patted it affectionately where it sat in its paper bag in the passenger seat. 

" _Baby you're perfect,_ " he told it. 

He just hoped he wouldn't run into Lance and Gwen, for as fate had it, Lance's family owned a huge estate near the village of Ealdor. With Arthur's luck, Lance and Gwen would probably be there for Christmas. But the risk wasn't great. He'd spend most of the time indoors anyway, with his perfect partner, the bottle. 

As he passed Bristol the drizzle turned to heavy rain, and when he crossed the Severn it began to snow. The whirling snowflakes made him dizzy, rushing towards him in the headlights, and in the dusk it was impossible to see anything beyond the snowfall. It felt like a strange dream, a twilight zone; as if the bridge would take him into another world. He'd drive straight into it without knowing. 

He overtook a lorry with another bumper sticker that made him smile – green with a silhouette of a unicorn, encircled by the words HIDE AND SEEK CHAMPION. 

When he exited the motorway, he braked behind an old VW Golf that was going about twenty miles an hour. It, too, had a bumper sticker: yet another unicorn silhouette, and below it the word BELIEVE. Arthur shook his head and laughed. What was it with the Welsh and unicorns? 

By the time he found the cottage – at least he thought this must be it; it fit the description and the directions – the snowfall had eased a little. Arthur parked in the driveway, got out of the car and looked around as he stretched his legs. The cottage was on a hillside overlooking the village that glittered as it climbed down the slope on the other side of the road, and below the village, at the foot of the hill, was a lake. When Arthur turned, he could see the lights of a large house further up the hill, but distant enough to show only as points of light. That must be Lakeview, then - Lance's estate, the DuLac family home. Well, there was a reason for its name, Arthur supposed. 

Damn snow, he thought as he brushed at his hair and shoulders. It was always so romantic in films, pretty and light like dancing feathers - never wet and clingy like this, never ran down people's collars or settled on top of their heads. 

"I'll leave the key out for you," Gwaine had said, but he hadn't said _where_. Where would you hide a key? Under a flower pot? But there were no pots on the steps. There were, however, gutters along the edge of the roof... 

Arthur looked around for something to stand on and found a wooden barrel, probably for collecting rainwater but turned upside down for the winter. He fetched it and climbed up on it, but when he ran his fingers along the gutter he found nothing but wet snow and slimy leaves. Muttering under his breath, he jumped down from the barrel and returned it to its spot. 

Straightening up, he stilled. There was a crawling sensation at the back of his neck – the distinct feeling that he was being watched. He turned around slowly and saw someone standing on the road just at the end of the driveway; a silhouette against the glittering lights of the village. In the falling darkness, Arthur could only just make out the lean figure of a young man. For a moment they stood looking at each other. Arthur realised he was tense all over, but it wasn't apprehension, exactly. It was as though something emanated from the man on the road, not dangerous, not threatening, but strong. Intense. Like heat in the snow. 

"Gwaine isn't home," the man called out. 

It sounded trite, as if Arthur had expected something sinister. He gave himself a mental shake. He was in the country now. Where people believed in unicorns and pointed out the obvious. 

"I know he isn't home," he said irritably. His voice sounded small and dull as if the snow swallowed it up, absorbed it like cotton wool. 

The man came hesitantly up the drive, past Arthur's car and up to the porch. His hesitation irritated Arthur even more. _I'm not a lurking assassin, for God's sake, and surely a burglar would know better than to park his car in plain view?_

"Can I help you with anything?" the man said. Up close he was quite nice-looking, from what Arthur could tell in the blue light reflected off the snow. Tall, slim, with powerful shoulders. Jeans, boots, parka, a beanie pulled down to his eyebrows. Arthur couldn't make out his eyes properly but the mouth was pretty. Sideburns. Three-day stubble. Mittens. And a tentative smile, now. "I'm Merlin Emrys. I'm a neighbour; I live over there. You can just see the light through the trees." 

He pointed along the road, past a small field or meadow to where a few points of warm, yellow light were visible through a thin curtain of trees. 

Arthur realised he was behaving badly. First he snapped at the man, then stared at him. 

"Gwaine's in France," he said. "I'll be staying here over Christmas. I'm Arthur Pendragon." 

"Yes," the man said, sounding a bit choked. His gaze hadn't left Arthur's face all the while he walked up from the road. It was a miracle he hadn't tripped or walked straight into Arthur's car. "You're Morgana's brother," he added. 

"Yeah. You've met her with Gwaine, of course." 

"Yes." The reply was oddly flat. "I've met her." 

Arthur laughed, then. "She affects most people that way." 

Merlin grinned. "Sorry, I didn't mean – " 

Arthur waved it aside. "I have a problem, though. Gwaine said he'd leave a key out for me, and I was looking for it in the gutter – that's why I was doing acrobatics on the barrel just then. But there's no key there, and I'm beginning to think Gwaine forgot. Wouldn't be a complete surprise, to be honest." 

"Oh," said Merlin, "Gordon has the key."

"Gordon?" 

"He's round the back." Merlin trudged past Arthur and disappeared around the corner. 

Arthur followed. 

"He's a turtle," Merlin explained over his shoulder. 

"A what?" 

"Turtle. Headless." 

Arthur just shook his head. Local colour, he supposed this was. Charming, quirky country ways. 

There was another entrance at the back, presumably to the kitchen. Merlin leaned down and brushed the snow off a lump on the steps. "Here he is. Headless Gordon." 

Gordon was a ceramic turtle about the size of Merlin's hand, and it did indeed appear to have lost its head. When Merlin shook it over his palm, a key fell out of the hole in the neck. "Et voilá!" He handed the key to Arthur. "Want me to turn the central heating on for you, since I know how it works? It'll only take a second and then I'll leave, I promise." 

"Thank you," said Arthur weakly. 

The house was dark and cold and felt un-lived in, as if Gwaine had been gone for years. Merlin had hurtled into the darkness, apparently with the night vision of a cat, but Arthur had to locate a light switch before he could take a quick look around. The kitchen showed promise of cosiness with its cooking range and sturdy wooden table. There was a small living room with a woodburning stove and an even smaller study, and from the hall, the stairs took Arthur up to two bedrooms and a bathroom. 

Back in the kitchen, Arthur crossed the floor and opened the fridge. Apart from a jar of gherkins, a bottle of wine and a tired-looking orange it was empty, and Arthur hadn't thought to stock up on food on his way here. 

"There, heating's on," said Merlin behind him. 

Arthur closed the fridge door. "Are the shops still open?" 

"Something in the village will be." 

Driving down to the village to find a supermarket felt like an insurmountable task. All Arthur really wanted right now was to go to bed, pull the duvet over his head and sleep away Christmas. Wake up when it was done and everything was back to normal. 

Merlin was eyeing him like he knew exactly what was going through Arthur's mind. "You know," he said sympathetically, "the roads can be bad and you're probably tired. You'd be more than welcome to come over to us for supper."

Arthur blinked. More country manners. The lovely kind. "Well, thank you, it's really nice of you to offer, but … I can't just …?" 

He hadn't intended it to come out like a question but it did, making it sound like he wanted to say yes but couldn't for the sake of politeness. Maybe he did actually want to say yes. Not that he particularly wanted to spend the evening being polite to strangers, but there was something about Merlin … and the thought of hot food was appealing. 

"It'll be nothing much, only some soup. It's just me and my mum and my uncle Gaius. And the cat. I hope you're not allergic or anything?" 

"No." Arthur was actually quite fond of cats, and in another life, or at least another lifestyle – if he hadn't lived in London and spent practically no time at home – he'd have liked to have a cat. Sometimes he dreamed uselessly about moving to the country, to a cottage like this. 

"Good," Merlin said. "I was just on my way home for supper when I saw you groping about in the gutter. If we leave now, the house will be nice and warm by the time you get back." 

Arthur gave up his token struggle. "Thank you." 

It had nearly stopped snowing when they walked over to Merlin's. On the hillside to their left, the village climbed down towards the lake, winking and glittering through the blue near-darkness. There was a dreamlike quality to the whole scene, that made Arthur wonder if maybe he _had_ driven into another world, one where people invited strangers for supper and walked next to them in easy silence. 

He turned his face up and caught a whirling snowflake on his tongue, just to see if this was real. The tiny, icy crystal melted on his tongue and he caught another. Real. 

"Well, here we are," said Merlin and opened the door. 

The cottage was warm and bright and smelled wonderfully of new bread, and despite the down-to-earth-ness of it all, Arthur couldn't shake the dreamlike feeling. 

"This is Arthur," said Merlin as they entered the kitchen, "Morgana's brother. He'll be staying in Gwaine's cottage over Christmas but his fridge is empty, so I asked him to eat with us. Arthur, this is my mum and my uncle Gaius." 

"Hello," said Arthur awkwardly, extending a hand to them both in turn. "Are you sure it's no trouble...?" 

"Of course you must eat with us." Merlin's mum gave Arthur a smile. "I'm Hunith. I hope you like - oops!" She nearly tripped over a tabby cat, not a kitten but not yet an adult cat, that shot out from under a chair and leapt at her feet. "Shoo, Hengroen. I hope you like soup, Arthur. And that you're not vegetarian, because there's bacon in it." 

For a moment, Arthur stared at the cat that now sat in the middle of the floor, innocently washing a paw. There was a roaring silence in his ears. "Hengroen?" His own voice came from afar. "You can't call it that. Hengroen is a - " 

He stopped himself, blinking in confusion. He had no idea why he'd said that or what he meant. Hunith was chopping parsley on the worktop, but both Merlin's uncle Gaius and Merlin had their eyes fixed on Arthur, expectantly. 

"Yes?" said Merlin in a low voice. "Hengroen is a …?" 

Arthur shrugged, bewildered. "I have no idea." 

For a moment Merlin looked disappointed, but then a small smile made his cheeks dimple. "What do you think we should have named him, then? Kilgharrah, perhaps?" 

That made Gaius laugh. 

Arthur blinked. "What?" 

"Sorry," said Merlin. "I'm just being silly. Please, sit." 

All through the meal Arthur was a little dazed. In the bright kitchen with the beanie off, Merlin was so gorgeous that Arthur felt stupidly shy. The table was small and they sat so close that their shoulders or elbows touched from time to time, and when Merlin glanced at Arthur and smiled, Arthur's heart tripped in his chest. His fingers and toes and the core of his being thawed as he ate the hot, filling soup, watched Merlin's pretty profile and listened to the talk and the laughter while Hengroen the cat chased a rubber ball across the floor. 

"Oh, you must take some bread, Arthur," Hunith said as he rose to leave, thrusting a loaf at him until he took it. It was wrapped in a clean tea towel and still warm. "And here, have some honey, too! It's from our own bees. No, do take it – I can't stand the thought of you all alone over there with no breakfast." 

"Thank you," said Arthur, half embarrassed by her kindness. "Thank you so much for supper and … and for everything." 

For showing me what a real home looks like, he wanted to say, but it was too soppy and too personal and would make him look pathetic. Merlin and Hengroen followed Arthur to the door, Hengroen batting at the bottom of Arthur's jeans with his paw. 

Walking towards Gwaine's cottage with the loaf of bread and the jar of honey clutched to his chest, Arthur noticed the sky had cleared. The show of stars was incredible. In London you could never see it like this. He stopped and turned his face up, gazing in amazement at the bridge of stars spanning the vault of the sky, his breath visible like a cloud. He smiled to himself. 

Back at the cottage he locked the door behind him, put the bread and honey on the kitchen counter and lit a fire in the wood-burning stove in the living room. Within five minutes he was asleep on the sofa. 

***

The great house at Lakeview was ablaze with light, ready for the Easter Ball. Smiling, Arthur and Elena stepped out of the motorcar and turned their faces up to admire the bright windows. The DuLac family had been one of the first to get electricity, and though the elder generations complained about its harsh glare, the younger ones loved it.

The ballroom was already crowded with people in late 18th century dress, flooded with light from two gigantic crystal chandeliers. 

A masquerade ball was such an old-fashioned thing it had almost come full circle and become a novelty again, and Elena had been talking about it ever since the invitation had arrived. She looked fantastic in embroidered, pale blue silk, dainty pompadour shoes and an intricate gold mask that covered most of her face but left mouth and chin visible. Three sweet-smelling, pale pink rosebuds had been threaded into her towering Marie Antoinette wig.

"You're not so bad yourself," she said when Arthur told her how beautiful she was. "You'd have broken girls' hearts in 1790 just like you do here in 1914."

"Not yours, though," he said and squeezed her hand. It was wonderful to be with someone who asked nothing of him, nothing but easy friendship.

"Oh, you're here!" Lance DuLac came up to them, beaming, and beckoned one of the waiters over with a tray of champagne glasses. "I'm glad you could come. You look stunning, both of you."

"So do you," Elena said, and as always, Lance's smile could have melted a glacier.

"Enjoy yourselves," he said and disappeared.

Arthur glanced down at his silver-buckled shoes. "I feel ridiculous in these. And white stockings on men? Really? Not to mention the wig! We're going to sweat like pigs when the dancing begins. No wonder this fashion went out of style."

Elena laughed. "Well, but it _is_ gorgeous. I love how your wig is tied back with a bow, and just look at your coat!"

Arthur did. It was made of dark blue velvet, embroidered along the hem with flowers and butterflies in gold, and Arthur had to admit it was nice.

"Oh, there's Gwaine," Elena breathed by his side, taking his arm and pointing to a flamboyant green coat and a faintly pink wig. "There's no mistaking that smile."

But where Gwaine was, there was also Morgana, and Elena's mouth trembled below her mask before she turned to Arthur and forced a smile. "Shall we dance?"

Alcohol tended to make Elena earnest, and after three glasses of champagne she said: "Everyone seems convinced there's going to be a war. Lance says so; my father agrees. _I_ agree. What do _you_ think, Arthur?"

Arthur, feeling sober all at once, put his glass down on the nearest tray. "Yes, I think there will be a war, and soon. My father says so as well, and as you know, he's in a position to know."

Elena nodded and offered a joyless smile. "We'd better make the most of this while we can, then."

Lance appeared at their side to ask Elena for a dance, and Arthur decided he needed some air. The heat in the room was stifling. He made his way out onto the terrace at the back of the house, stopping at the edge of the lawn to remove his mask and fan himself with it. The darkness was mild and damp, sweet with spring, and Arthur closed his eyes and gulped it in. Better breathe while he still could. Yes, there was going to be a war, and knowing himself, he'd be among the first to enlist. He wasn't one to sit around and wait for others to do the work.

A low, male voice behind him: "Arthur?"

He turned around and opened his eyes. A dark coat with a shimmer of velvet in the light from the ballroom windows. Buttoned silk waistcoat, silver-buckled shoes, black mask that was removed as Arthur turned... Arthur's heart began to hammer erratically in his chest.

"Merlin!"

Merlin smiled, stepping out of the shadows to stand fully in the oblong of light on the terrace. A dimple showed in each cheek, making Arthur swallow. It had been three years since they'd seen each other last, but that summer, when they had both been seventeen, had etched itself into Arthur's memory. The images bloomed vividly in his mind even as he stood here in the dark, watching Merlin bathed in light like he was on a stage: those dreamy, mysterious summer nights. Kisses, fumbling hands, damp breath on necks - forbidden and wonderful and never forgotten.

Three years. Was Arthur changed? He must be, but Merlin looked exactly the same. Arthur's hands were trembling and he pressed his palms against the fabric of his coat.

They looked at each other in silence. Then Merlin said: "Come."

He took Arthur by the elbow and led him away from the terrace, round the corner into the dark, stopping where they were half hidden by lilac bushes.

"It's been three years," he said in a low voice. "Three years, and I still want to… Now that I see you, I just want…"

"Yes," Arthur breathed. "I want it too."

Nothing more was needed. They kissed in the deep shadows while the faint sound of laughter and music from the ballroom mixed with the clear notes of a blackbird and the sweet scent of crushed, trampled grass. Arthur pulled them in deeper behind the lilac bushes where they wouldn't be seen and allowed Merlin to push him up against the wall, not caring if his coat was ruined. Merlin's teeth caught Arthur's earlobe, his mouth slid down the side of Arthur's neck and both their hands scrabbled at fabric. Panting and shaking, their fingers hot, they turned their faces into each other's velvet-clad shoulder to stifle their moans.

Afterwards they leaned against each other and breathed.

"I've thought about you," Merlin said.

"And I about you." If only Merlin knew how much.

"Lance tells me you're at Cambridge, but I haven't seen you there. I'm at King's. And you're at Trinity?"

"Yes," said Arthur. "Merlin, I don't want to wait another three years to see you again."

"That's settled, then. Let's meet at Cambridge. There isn't much time."

"I know."

"Kiss me again."

Arthur did, and a second time, and then they headed back to the light and the dancing before people began to wonder where they were.

***

Arthur woke with a start and a crick in his neck. Stretching and massaging his neck, he glanced at his watch. It was six in the morning; his usual wake-up time. He had slept seven solid hours. With his head at an angle. Probably snoring as well.

He found tea bags in a cupboard and put the kettle on, then drank his tea and ate Hunith's bread and honey, thinking about his dream. It had been so clear and vivid, so real and so weirdly _not_ weird. Dreams usually made no sense at all. They had their own, inherent logic that seemed natural while you were dreaming but completely insane once you were awake. This dream hadn't been like that at all. It felt like something that could really have happened.

But of course it hadn't. It was just that Arthur had had a strange, intense day yesterday and met some new people, and now he had taken the events and impressions of the day and merged them together into a dream. Even though he had never visited the great house at Lakeview he had created it in his imagination and peopled it with old and new friends and acquaintances – all except one. He didn't know anyone named Elena.

God, how pathetic was that? He had created an imaginary friend for himself in his dream.

The day turned out to be glorious. The temperature had dropped even more, the sky was bluer than blue and the snow was blinding in the sun. It looked like a Christmas card. When Arthur went out to the car, there was even a robin perched on the fence.

Arthur drove down to the village to do some shopping, grateful that he'd followed Gwaine's advice about snow tyres. Walking along the narrow, winding streets, stopping twice for coffee, Arthur surprised himself by enjoying it. In a tiny jeweller's shop he found a delicate, whimsical necklace of threaded silver and moonstone that he knew Morgana would love, and to hell with their promise of no Christmas presents.

He went to buy some food, and coming out of the supermarket, he ran into Merlin.

"Oh, hello," said Merlin easily.

Arthur tried not to stare. If Merlin had been gorgeous last night in the cottage kitchen, he was stunning in the bright daylight. His eyes glittered blue and the sun bounced sparks off his hair. Arthur remembered his dream of kisses and hot hands and blushed, as if Merlin could read his thoughts.

"Want to come over again tonight? We usually have our neighbours round on Christmas Eve."

"Thanks," Arthur said. No need to decline politely today. "I'd like that."

"Great, see you then." Merlin gave him a small wave and went on his way.

***

If Arthur hadn't been invited he'd probably have invented an excuse to go over to Merlin's anyway, he realised as he changed his clothes that evening. He was even a bit nervous with anticipation. He'd been thinking about Merlin all afternoon. The dream. The kisses.

BELIEVE.

He shook himself. Clearly, Wales was messing with his head.

It wasn't until Arthur was halfway to Merlin's that it occurred to him that the DuLac family were neighbours, too. He stopped for a second, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He hadn't seen Gwen for months. Well, if this was the time when he had to meet her again, it would be good to have other people around. And anyway, he noticed with some surprise, the thought seemed less awful than it had before. He preferred not to analyse why.

Merlin opened the door with a smile and waited while Arthur took off his coat, shooing away Hengroen who came bouncing sideways with his back arched to attack Arthur's bootlaces.

"Come in! Everyone's in the kitchen."

The cottage was fragrant with mulled wine and mince pies and Arthur was immediately wrapped in that warm, cosy feeling of home.

When they entered the kitchen, Hunith came up to them and hugged Arthur. "I'm so glad you could come!"

"Thank you so much for the bread and honey," he said, hugging her back. "That's twice you've saved my life now - first supper, then breakfast. Now you're just spoiling me."

Hunith laughed. "I think you could do with a bit of spoiling. Come in and have a seat, and meet our other neighbours."

Luckily, Lance or Gwen were nowhere in sight. Hunith introduced Arthur to Alice, an elderly woman with dark eyes and a pleasant smile, and Godwin, a florid-faced, middle-aged man. And next to him ...

"Arthur, this is Godwin's daughter Elena."

The roaring silence washed in over Arthur again and he had to force himself to extend a hand. From far away, he watched his hand meet Elena's, and her face was as pretty as it had been beneath the Marie Antoinette wig.

He turned away and closed his eyes for a moment, wondering if he was about to pass out for the first time in his life. 

"What's the matter?"

It was Merlin's worried voice, and when Arthur opened his eyes, Merlin's face swam before him. Arthur took a breath and tried to collect himself. "Oh, it's nothing."

When they were having coffee in the living room, Merlin came over to Arthur and touched his arm. "All right there? You were so quiet at dinner."

Arthur glanced over his shoulder at the women who were gathered around the coffee table looking at old photos. "Elena," he said in a low voice. "I … I saw her in a dream last night."

God, he sounded like a total nut. But Merlin didn't look as if he thought Arthur was crazy. His face had turned very serious.

"Can we talk somewhere else?"

Arthur nodded.

"Come," said Merlin and took Arthur by the elbow, just as he had in the dream. He led Arthur upstairs and into a tiny bedroom with a ceiling so low they had to bow their heads to avoid the beams, and pointed to the bed. "Sit. You're white as a sheet."

Arthur sat, looking up at Merlin helplessly. "Elena," he said again. "I've never seen her before … I mean, I've never _met_ her before. But I saw her in my dream." 

"In a dream," said Merlin slowly. "What else happened in the dream?"

"There was a… a ball. A masquerade. Everyone was dressed in eighteenth century clothing but it was 1914."

Merlin leaned forward, his eyes intent on Arthur's face. "Up at Lakeview? At the House?"

Arthur swallowed, nodded. "Yes. You were there, too. I … you …"

He began to recount the dream. It didn't feel like a dream so much as a memory now. He knew every detail. Felt it. _Remembered_ it.

He stopped before he came to the kiss. "I don't know, it feels so _real_. And now, downstairs... Elena. How could I dream of her before I'd met her? And how could _you_ know that I'd dreamt of Lakeview?"

"Because," Merlin said, "it wasn't a dream. Look, you're really pale, you're not going to pass out or anything?"

Arthur shook his head, impatient. He had to try and make sense of this. "It wasn't a dream?"

"No. It felt real because it is. We've met before – you, me … all of us. You're only just beginning to remember. When I saw you last night … I was probably acting weird, but I wondered if you already remembered. Or if you would when you saw me. If you'd remember _me_."

But Arthur was barely listening. He was looking inward, at the images tumbling through his mind. The ball, the motorcars ("motorcars"!), Cambridge where Merlin and he had punted lazily along the river on warm afternoons, stealing every moment together that they could get… 

"My head's spinning," he said. "How is it possible to remember a previous life? People who say they do – I've always thought they were completely bonkers."

"They probably are," said Merlin gravely. "But you and I … it's different with us. _We're_ different. Because you are Arthur, the king of legend, and I … well, I'm Merlin. "

No, Arthur wanted to say, it's impossible, it's crazy, it's laughable, but he couldn't get the words across his lips. He knew it was true. He knew Merlin was right.

"And... the others?" he asked faintly. "Do _they_ remember?"

Merlin shook his head. "Gaius does. No one else seems to." He reached out and squeezed Arthur's shoulder. "I had waited so long, Arthur. When Morgana turned up here with Gwaine, I knew that you'd be back, too; I knew you'd be here soon. And last night, when I saw you at the cottage … I felt like I was about to explode. Like I couldn't wait another second."

Arthur's heart was speeding up, and he rose from the bed so his face was level with Merlin's. "To do what?"

"You know what," Merlin said, and kissed him, and held him.

When they returned downstairs, Arthur went up to Gaius, who was standing by the fire with his glass of brandy and who had always been so faithful and kind. He placed a hand on the old man's shoulder, met his gaze and nodded slowly. "I remember."

The smile on Gaius' face broadened and his hand came up to pat Arthur's. "It's good to have you back, my boy."

When Hengroen butted his head against Arthur's legs, Arthur looked up at Merlin and smiled in amazement at the memory. "Hengroen," he said. "Hengroen was my _horse_."

Just then, the front door opened and chilly air streamed in, and Arthur heard an unexpected but unmistakable voice. He turned around and saw his sister stand in the doorway. "Hello everyone! Sorry we're turning up unannounced like this."

Hunith rose with a smile. "What a lovely surprise!"

"Morgana!" Arthur said. "Why are you back so soon? Are you okay?"

"She was worried about you," Gwaine said over Morgana's shoulder as she came up and kissed Arthur on the cheek. "Said we had to go back and check on you." He sighed dramatically. "Well, it was a wonderful almost-visit to Paris. We checked in and unpacked, then packed and checked out."

Morgana distended her nostrils. "I wasn't _worried_. I just didn't want us to come back to have a corpse on our hands. I mean, Arthur can't cook and he can barely take care of himself at the best of times, and what would we _do_ with his dead body?"

Gwaine looked at Arthur, raised his eyebrows and nodded. "She was worried."

Arthur pulled Morgana in for a hug. "Have you told Uther you're back from France?"

Morgana shook her head. "No, and I'm not going to. He's made our Christmases miserable for years – let him grump about in London on his own. It's what he wants, anyway."

Arthur wasn't sure that was what Uther wanted, but felt no great compunction about it.

"Anyway, listen everyone, we have news! At least we were in Paris long enough for _this_." Morgana's eyes were radiant as she held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers, where her ring caught the light from the ceiling lamp and flashed blue and icy white.

Everyone cheered.

Moved, Arthur pulled Morgana in again and kissed her on the cheek. "Congratulations, both of you!" He put an arm around Gwaine's shoulders. "Have you any idea what you've let yourself in for?"

Gwaine only had eyes for Morgana. "In fact, I think I do."

Her answering smile told Arthur they'd probably be quite disgustingly happy together.

"If I had any champagne," he said, "this is when I'd break it out, but …"

"You underestimate us, Arthur," said Gwaine. "Do you really think we'd return champagne-less from France? We have a whole crate. Merry Christmas, everyone!"

***

Arthur dreamed of trenches and biplanes, of searchlights and mud and machine guns. He dreamed of blood and crosses, of hopelessness and grief, and of rain beating his face before the grey sky faded away and was lost in darkness.

***

"I dreamed again," Arthur said to Merlin as they walked slowly side by side along the snowy path into the woods. "Or remembered, I suppose. We died, Merlin. We died in the war."

Merlin shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his parka and aimed a vicious kick at a pine cone. "At least, you did."

Arthur stopped. "What do you mean? Didn't you?"

Merlin stopped, too; head bent, hands in pocket, the toe of his boot scraping snow from the ground. "No. I didn't that first time, either. At Camlann. Apparently I don't do that. I don't die."

Arthur looked at him, trying to process what he'd just heard. Merlin hadn't died. But if he hadn't, it meant that he had lived for a thousand years… alone. Waiting. _We had waited so long, Arthur,_ he had said yesterday.

Empathy welled up hot in Arthur's chest, aching in his throat. "Merlin …"

Merlin shrugged. "I've done an awful lot of waiting, that's all." He looked up at Arthur with something like hopelessness in his eyes, and Arthur couldn't stand it. He took a step forward and pulled Merlin close.

"I don't remember everything yet," he said. "Did I come back before? I mean, after Camlann, before the first world war?"

"Once. In the 18th century." Merlin leaned back so he could meet Arthur's eyes. There was a ghost of a smile now. "You looked gorgeous in velvet and silk, just like you did at that masquerade ball."

The kiss felt right, like coming home. Merlin's tongue was warm and eager and his eyes fluttered closed.

"I'm sorry," Arthur murmured, leaning his forehead against Merlin's when they had stopped kissing. "I'm sorry I keep making you so miserable."

"You make me happy, too, when you return. But each time …" Merlin's voice wobbled and he cleared his throat, tried again. "Each time you die, I'm scared it'll be the last time. That maybe this time, you _won't_ come back."

There was nothing to say to that, and they stood in silence. Around them the wind whispered in the trees, coaxing snow off the branches. 

Darkness was falling and they walked back from the woods, out onto the road towards Gwaine's cottage. Below them on the slope, the village glittered with Christmas lights.

"Don't you age, Merlin?" Arthur asked. "I mean … back in 1911, when we were seventeen …" It sounded weird but he continued: " _I_ was seventeen, I mean, and I thought we were the same age then. When we met three years later, I had changed but you looked exactly the same."

Merlin only shrugged and looked away. "I do look young, I suppose."

There was more to that; Arthur could tell. "But…?"

Merlin shook his head. "But nothing. I'm a thousand years old - and twenty-four. That's the age I was when we … when you died, that first time. That's where it stopped."

Arthur looked at him, nodding slowly. "You stopped aging. As if you had died, too."

Merlin gave him a sad smile. "Most of the time, when you're not there, I feel as old as I really am."

In a flash of memory, Arthur remembered an old man with long, white hair, white beard and a deeply lined face, a man he had seen against the ominous red sky at Camlann.

He shuddered.

"I'm cold," he said. "Let's go back to mine. Gwaine and Morgana are out and I have an unopened bottle of whisky that I bought to keep me company over Christmas. I think we need it."

In the warmth of Gwaine's living room, with tumblers of whisky and a fire crackling in the wood-burner, they sat watching the flames.

Merlin said slowly, turning the glass in his hand: "There's a Japanese word, or expression …"

Arthur turned to look at him, at the firelight dyeing the tips of his eyelashes red. "Yes?"

"It's _kintsugi_ , or _kintsukuroi_ , and it means golden joinery, to mend or repair with gold."

"With gold?"

"They mend broken pottery with a special lacquer mixed with gold, or with silver or platinum." Merlin met Arthur's eyes. "Basically it means that when something has suffered and has a history, it's all the more beautiful for it."

Arthur nodded slowly.

"That's how I feel with you," Merlin said. "Each time you die, I break, and each time you come back, I'm put back together again. Repaired with gold. There are cracks but I'm whole, and there's an entirely new pattern."

The lump in Arthur's throat made him unable to speak. He leaned forward, placed his tumbler on the table and pulled Merlin to him. The kiss tasted of whisky and a thousand years of longing.

"I'm here now," Arthur whispered, "and this time I'm sure we have a good few years ahead of us."

A log fell in the burner but they didn't notice. They were still kissing when the door opened and Gwaine and Morgana came tumbling in, stamping snow from their boots and laughing, and they didn't stop until Morgana cleared her throat loudly in the doorway.

"Ahem!"

They drew apart and smiled at each other.

"I realise how trite and boring this must seem in comparison with …" Morgana waved a hand towards them. "… what you were doing, but can I interest you in some coffee?"

They laughed and said yes, and Arthur noticed Morgana was wearing the moonstone necklace. When she had disappeared with Gwaine to the kitchen, Arthur put his arm around Merlin who leaned his head against Arthur, nuzzling at his neck.

"If all this has taught us anything," Merlin said, his breath tickling Arthur's skin, "it would be not to take anything for granted. Nothing is certain. Nothing lasts. We must enjoy the moment and be grateful for it."

"Bittersweet," Arthur murmured.

"Yes. But true." Merlin turned up his face. "And on that note … I could bear to be kissed again."

"Now that's a request I can fulfill," Arthur said, before he leaned down and did.

**Author's Note:**

> The lyrics quotes from 1D songs are from _Drag Me Down_ and _Perfect_. :)


End file.
